


Impulse and Consequence

by fanspired



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Erotic Games, First Kiss, First Time, Humor, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-08 12:35:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3209450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanspired/pseuds/fanspired
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jared can't keep his hands to himself on set it puts ideas in Jensen's head, and he challenges his friend to an unusual wager.<br/>[<b>Warning:</b> Erotic hand spanking as a part of sexual foreplay]<br/></p><div class="center">
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <img/><br/></p>
</div><br/>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** action takes place in a bizarre alternate reality where two actors who remarkably resemble Jared and Jensen just happen to have the same names and work on a show extraordinarily like "Supernatural". (Or, to put it another way: not real; not them; didn't happen)
> 
>  **A/N:** This is my first (and probably last) J2 written as a personal challenge to write outside my usual comfort zone.
> 
>  
> 
> **Time stamp: Season 2 during the filming of "Hollywood Babylon"**  
> 

Jared, it must be acknowledged, has poor impulse control. Whatever part of the brain would normally alert a person that it might be inappropriate to smack the ass of your buddy and co-worker while you’re on set and the cameras are rolling, Jared lacks it. Especially when said co-worker bends over right in front of him and presents his irresponsibly smackable butt like an open invitation. Jared’s “what am I doing?” lever doesn’t even get a chance to trip before he’s reached out and planted a sound wallop on his friend’s best cheek. To his credit, Jensen is impressively unfazed by most of Jared’s antics these days and his lack of reaction on this occasion is spectacular: he doesn’t move or say anything, doesn’t even flinch, just carries right on with the scene like nothing unusual has happened. Jared’s the one who cracks, walks away laughing and maybe just a little embarrassed. But it’s all good: just Jared goofing around as usual – good material for the DVD gag reel, and something else for the fans to have fun with – and by the end of the day they’ve mostly forgotten all about it. If Jensen gives him an odd, searching kind of look as they walk off set, or seems preoccupied while they’re going over the dailies, Jared doesn’t even connect the dots.  
  
Later they’re in the bar, unwinding with a couple of beers, when Jared starts to suspect something’s up with Jensen. He’s not quite himself, not completely relaxed. There’s an edge of performance in the way he moves, in the pitch of his voice, and he’s being arch and cocky with Jared in a way that’s just a little more Winchester than Ackles. It’s not quite the full Dean, but it still feels like he’s role playing somehow, and Jared scans the bar, puzzled and a little concerned. He can’t see anything or anyone that might be making his friend uneasy, but he knows Jensen only starts channeling Dean when he’s feeling nervous or self conscious.  
  
“Everything O.K.?” he asks him quietly.  
  
Jensen raises an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t it be?” he enquires.  
  
Jared shrugs his shoulders. “You just seem a little . . . jacked?” he suggests, for want of a better descriptive.  
  
Jensen doesn’t reply, just watches him over the top of his glass as he takes a sip of beer, catching a little froth on his lips as he drinks and he rolls them over one another to suck it off, leaving them wet and glossy. Jared’s seen him pull that move so many times on set that it usually sets off his chees-o-meter and makes him want to laugh but this evening, for some reason, he’s fascinated with the process and forgets to look away. He’s preoccupied when Jensen asks “wanna play?” and it takes him a moment to register the gesture toward the pool table.  
  
For the first time, while they’re playing, Jared recalls the spanking incident; he’s forcibly reminded of it every time his friend bends over to take a shot. And, maybe he’s imagining it, but it seems like Jensen’s picking all the long shots that have him bending and stretching and presenting his ass to its best possible advantage, even when there are easier balls available. Jared’s impulse control is tested to its limits but, seriously, this isn’t a closed set with just friends and co-workers around who are used to their antics. It’s a public bar: there are rules.  
  
He’s surprised when he wins the game because, honestly, he’s a little distracted and not playing his best. Jensen demands a rematch and as he’s racking up the balls he asks “wanna make this more interesting?”  
  
“Sure,” Jared agrees, absently. “How much?”  
  
Jensen picks up his cue and starts chalking the end. “I was thinking maybe twenty,” he suggests.  
  
Jared’s a little surprised. They don’t wager often, but when they do they usually bet more. “Dollars?” he asks, in case he’s missing something . . . and apparently he is.  
  
Jensen’s eyelashes flicker upward briefly but he immediately returns his attention to chalking. It seems to take a lot of his concentration. “Strokes,” he says.  
  
It takes Jared a full four seconds to reply and then all he manages is “uh . . . what?”  
  
Jensen finally lifts his chin. He squares his shoulders and looks Jared full in the face, challenging him: “Winner gets to spank the loser: twenty strokes,” he elaborates. “Too rich for your blood, Jayrod?” he adds, smirking.  
  
Jared can feel his eyes widening until they’re aching, but he’s afraid to believe Jensen’s serious. Maybe this is just a tease; payback for embarrassing his co-star on set. “. . . erp . . .” he says.  
  
Jensen just laughs and shakes his head, and now his focus is back on his cue which is still, apparently, inadequately chalked. “See, I knew it,” he says. “You’re so free with your hands and wiggling your pretty little ass when there’s a camera rolling, but you’re all show, Jared. Shit gets real and you’re just a wussy little chicken, arncha?” His tone is mockingly regretful, and Jared might have dismissed it all as a wind up if it wasn’t for the telltale pink spots pooling in his friend’s cheeks.  
  
After a beat Jared laughs, too: a wide mouthed, breathy, affronted guffaw. He realizes he’s being offered an out – they both are – an opportunity to act like it was just a joke and move on, all forgotten but for the occasional “remember when . . .?” and “I got you good, didn’t I?” But he’s also being offered a dare. And Jensen _knows_ he can’t resist a dare.  
  
“Make it _thirty!_ ” he retorts, firmly.  
  
Jensen’s chin pops back up and his eyes light up in a way that turns Jared’s toes hot. Suddenly all the tension has melted out of his shoulders and his mouth splits with an artless grin that is _pure_ Jensen. “Now you’re talking!” he says, and turns to take the break. He bends from the waist, back flat, legs straight (as he can get them), chin almost brushing the table, and he is so _obviously_ ‘assuming the position’ that Jared laughs out loud: a rich, unfettered chuckle that’s laced with burgeoning excitement. As he tries not to stare at the denim stretched taut over Jensen’s buttocks and the backs of his thighs, Jared can feel heat pooling in the pit of his belly, and the palm of his hand itches like crazy.  
  
The crack of the cue ball into the pack sends a little thrill buzzing across Jared’s shoulders. The balls scatter energetically and Jensen gets lucky: a spot drops into a corner pocket. When he straightens up, his demeanor has changed. He’s businesslike now, scanning the table shrewdly, and when he finds a sure shot and bends to take it he’s clearly not showing off any more; he’s playing to win. His face and body reflect that intense focus and concentration he acquires on set when he’s trying to nail an important scene, and hot chills bubble down Jared’s back right down to his haunches. He realizes he was the one who started all this, and he only has himself to blame, but now it really dawns on him: _oh, crap, I’m screwed_.  
  
He watches his friend put away another three shots, and with each crack of the cue, each ball that clacks cleanly into its pocket, butterflies are gathering in Jared’s tummy. He’s starting to visualize himself prone over Jensen’s knee, butt upturned and waiting for his spanking . . . and he can feel himself starting to blush ’cause that’s just . . . _embarrassing_ . . . and if only that was all it was, but his pants are filling and tightening at the thought and that makes him blush even more ’cause he wonders if Jensen’s really _fully_ aware of what he’s proposed here.  
  
He finds himself urgently casting around for something to break his buddy’s unnervingly Zen rhythm. He can’t touch Jensen or interfere with the table, that would be illegal and he suspects Jen’s going to be a stickler about this, but his beer catches his attention and he dips in a finger and draws himself a froth mustache, adding a blob on his nose for good measure. Then he bends his knees and slowly lowers himself down until his face is level with his friend’s eye-line as he’s lining up to take his fifth shot.  
  
Jensen’s eyelashes flicker up, he sees Jared and stares at him deadpan for a couple of beats before his mouth curls into a grin and he stands up, chuckling.  
  
“Just remember, two can play at that game, Jared,” he points out. “And there are so many more opportunities for me to interfere with _you_ left on this table.” He indicates the full set of striped balls still scattered around the felt and Jared laughs but takes the point, straightening up and wiping the froth off his nose.  
  
Jensen lines up for his shot again and he glances across the table to where Jared’s standing. “Besides,” he says, smirking. “Looks to me like you’re already going to have _a lot_ distracting you when you play.” His eye-line is directly level with Jared’s crotch.  
  
Jared laughs again and hurriedly moves out of Jensen’s shot, but he’s blushing even more furiously now that his buddy’s made it clear he _does_ know the score.  
  
Jensen takes the shot quickly but his arm kind of snatches as he strikes and the cue glances off the edge of the white ball sending it spinning sideways, and it hits a stripe.  
  
“Free shot to me!” Jared announces with gleeful relief.  
  
“Really?” Jensen responds dryly. “’Cause I was thinking maybe _I_ should get a free shot for you distracting me,” he suggests.  
  
“Oh, yeah?” Jared shoots back quickly. “Show me in the rules where it says I get penalized for being hung like a horse?”  
  
Jensen’s laughing now, loudly. It’s the full body thing where he rocks backwards, back arching, and Jared can’t help but chortle with him, watching his friend with open affection for all the world to see. Jared loves this man and doesn’t care who knows it.  
  
Jensen’s still grinning as he picks up Jared’s cue and hands it to him. “Go on, I’ll give you a chance,” he says generously and Jared pokes his tongue out at him.  
  
The atmosphere’s more relaxed now but Jared’s flesh is still kind of buzzing all over as he finds a shot and bends down to take it and, Jensen’s right, his erection _does_ get in the way. And then he becomes aware that his friend’s standing right behind him and that’s just . . . unsettling. Nevertheless he sucks in a deep breath, lets it out again and draws back the cue.  
  
“And, what’s more, you have a damn fine ass, as well,” Jensen’s cheerful voice informs him.  
  
Jared lets the cue drop a little while he takes another breath. He can ignore his friend’s jibes, does it on set all the time. He can do this.  
  
“Which reminds me,” Jensen adds, “just to clarify: a smack on each cheek counts as one stroke, right?”  
  
Jared stands up smartly. “What?” he gasps.  
  
Jensen shrugs. “’m just saying. You know? For balance.” His face is a picture of innocence.  
  
Jared scowls at him but he isn’t going to challenge the premise ’cause that would look like cowardice, and it’d also be like admitting defeat and he isn’t ready to do that. He bends back down and takes the shot quickly before Jensen can think up another distraction but his accuracy is just a little off. The ball trundles across the table, hits the rim of the pocket and deflects off. It remains sitting close to the edge and Jared has to use his free shot to put it away.  
  
Jensen grins at him but he walks away from the table picks up his beer and sits down. Seems he’s done screwing with Jared for the time being.  
  
Jared manages to put away two more shots, bringing the game a little closer to level, and as the fourth goes down he feels more relaxed. He glances at Jensen and notices his friend doesn’t look quite so assured now, and that makes him feel even better. Trouble is, there’s no easy ball left on the table. Two long shots and one ball that’s close to a pocket but there’s a spot in the way and it would take an angled shot off the cushion to put it down. Still, it’s doable and any other time Jared would go for it, but the way he’s been playing tonight it’s risky. Smart money would play a safety shot . . . but sometimes Jared’s just not that smart. He bends down, lines up the cue and takes a few cleansing breaths, too aware that his friend is watching him keenly. And as he slides the cue forward his arm trembles. The contact’s not clean and the shot is all sorts of wrong. The angle’s wrong, it’s under played, and not only does the cue ball not reach its target, it hits Jensen’s spot instead.  
  
Jensen has two balls on the table and the black with a free shot and _oooooooooooh_ Jared is just _so_ screwed.  
  
Jensen’s on his feet and as he picks up his cue his jaw is taut with this poker faced expression that is so obviously him trying not to smirk that he is. He _is_ smirking.  
  
“Freudian slip, Jay?” he murmurs as he passes.  
  
“Oh, shuttup, you,” Jared retorts, earning a smug chortle from his opponent.  
  
Jensen circles the table looking for his shot and he’s like a panther stalking a gazelle. Jared’s watching and his heart’s thumping madly, and he’s got the fingers of both hands crossed behind his back. He’s hardly breathing as he watches the first ball disappear into its pocket, and the tightness in his crotch is spreading down his thighs. He barely stops himself from groaning out loud when the second goes down and the cue ball glides smoothly back along the table to rest behind the eight. It’s a straight shot, directly into the pocket, and Jensen. can’t. miss.  
  
Jared turns away from the table, faces the wall and discreetly adjusts the front of his jeans because . . . _ow_. He’s not sure he wants to watch but it seems to be taking a while and when he turns back Jensen’s chalking his cue again, carefully sizing up the shot and _oh_ , just get it _over with_ already!  
  
Jensen leans over the table, palm flat against the felt, then he gracefully raises his fingers and makes a cradle with his knuckles, laying the cue across the back of his hand. He rehearses the shot and Jared’s mouth breathing as he watches the cue slide smoothly back and forth between his friend’s fingers, then there’s the crack of the cue, the click of the white hitting the black then the eight ball drives straight and true toward the pocket, hits the back with a solid thud and drops, just like the bottom falling out of the pit of Jared’s stomach . . .  
  
But then his eyes widen as the cue ball continues on its path behind the black and drops into the pocket right after it. Jared can’t believe it! Jensen’s fouled the eight ball! He forfeits the game!  
  
Jensen is frozen in position, staring down the hole. Then he straightens slowly. When he turns to Jared there are little pink patches glowing in his cheeks. The expression on his face is peculiar. There’s a spark of something like excitement in his eyes and the hint of a smile crinkling the corners, but there’s something alert and watchful there, too, like he’s checking for Jared’s reaction, and there’s something altogether too casual in his manner when he says “oops.” Jared knows his friend well enough to sense when he’s being hustled, and now it occurs to him . . . did Jensen just throw the game _on purpose?_  
  
Jensen studies Jared a moment longer then grins slowly. “So,” he says, nonchalantly. “My place or yours?”

 

 

.

  
Somehow they manage to hold a relatively normal conversation with Clif on the way back to Jared’s place, despite the fact that it feels like he has a flock of pigeons in his tummy and every time he catches his friend’s eye they all take off at once. On the whole, though, Jensen’s avoiding eye contact and, judging by the number of times he shoehorns the word “awesome” into the conversation, it seems like he’s just as nervous.  
  
Trouble is, this was all kind of Jensen’s idea and Jared’s beginning to wish his friend had won the bet since he presumably knows what he has in mind. Now that there’s time to think, Jared’s finding the responsibility of being the one who’s nominally ‘in charge’ decidedly nerve-racking. He has all sorts of questions about how far his friend’s expecting him to go, but if he actually asks them outright, will that spoil the game? And, besides, the biggest question is the one Jared’s most afraid to ask: is this supposed to be _just_ a spanking, or is it spanking _and_ . . . ?  
  
Jared’s chest heaves and he takes a quick gulp of air, because that ‘ _and_ ’, with its attendant question mark, has been hanging in the air for almost two seasons now. Inevitably. They’re both well aware of the fans that would have the two of them married off by now if wishes were horses. And they laugh about it, joke about it, wind each other up, act out for the fans’ benefit, but somehow they’ve never seriously raised the question: the sixty four thousand dollar ‘ _what if_ ’ Not out loud, anyway.  
  
Jared’s asked it. To himself. On the quiet.  
  
Oh, _come on!_ When a guy who’s that drop-dead gorgeous looks at you like _that_ , that often – joking or not, play acting or not – male, female, gay, straight: you’d ask yourself – wouldn’t you? – _What if?_ And Jared’s not even sure he was that surprised by the answer. He’s just never quite dared to explore what questions Jensen might have been asking himself because, well . . . _then what?_  
  
They’ve arrived. The pigeons all simultaneously fold up their wings and drop en masse to the pit of Jared’s stomach, and after they’ve said their goodnights and thanks to Clif there’s nothing for it but to go up to the apartment and, abruptly, the question becomes: _now what?_ They’re standing in the middle of the living room and Jensen’s obviously waiting for Jared to call the shots but he has no idea how to get this party started.  
  
“Want a beer?” he blurts out. “Or something stronger?”  
  
“Whiskey’s good.” Jensen nods, a little too enthusiastically. “Just a small one.”  
  
While he’s fixing the drinks Jared starts to wonder if something that can make them this awkward with each other is even a good idea. As he hands his friend a glass he ventures “you know, I’ve been thinking, maybe we should – ”  
  
“Oh, here we go.” Jensen’s body sags visibly and he rolls his eyes, and Jared is stymied by the interruption.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You’re wimping out, aren’t you? You’ve brought me all the way up here just to wimp out!” The tone is mock exasperation, but there’s an edge of genuine frustration underneath it that lets Jared know what _Jensen’s_ been worrying about all the way back from the bar.  
  
“No!” Jared hastens to assure him. “No way!” The last thing he wants to do is disappoint his friend. With an air of resolve, he knocks back his whiskey shot in one gulp, parks the glass on the bar and drops down on the sofa. “Come here,” he commands, signaling his expectations with a meaningful slap of his thigh.  
  
Now it’s Jensen who’s hesitating, studying him carefully. “Are you sure?” he asks. “’cause if you’ve really changed your mind – ”  
  
“Oh, you _wish_ ,” Jared teases. “No, man. You made your bet, now you can lie in it.” Grinning, he taps his thigh again for emphasis.  
  
Jensen purses his lips, lets his glass roll between his fingers then lifts it with a would-be casual gesture and upends the liquid down his throat before setting the glass next to Jared’s and positively _sauntering_ over to the sofa. He toes off his shoes then drops smoothly to his knees between Jared’s thighs and fixes him with a wide eyed gaze that almost invites laughter, except now his hands are on Jared’s knees, their warmth seeping through the denim of his jeans, and excitement begins to stir deep inside him once more. Jensen hooks his leg up and crawls his way, crablike, onto the seat, sliding his hips into place over Jared’s lap.  
  
And there he is: long lean-muscled body stretched out across Jared’s, laid out for him. Jared’s gaze rides up the length of the denim clad legs, over the swell of Jensen’s butt – raised and presented so invitingly across Jared’s thighs – up the long, smooth arch of Jensen’s back to broad shoulders that rise and fall with the slightly quickened in and out of his breath. His head’s turned the other way in an attempt to hide the hint of a blush that’s gracing his cheeks, his lips are parted, and his eyes are open just a fraction too wide, but they’re unfocused, gazing somewhere into the middle distance. He’s waiting, and while he waits his erection blossoms warm and eager against Jared’s thigh. His eyes swivel to the corners, looking for Jared’s reaction, and his lips curl with a tiny smirk that’s half nervous, half dare.  
  
Jared’s breath catches in his chest, and in moments he’s gone from half hard to full and tight and twitching. His mouth’s a bit dry and he trembles a little as he reaches out and curls his hand around the back of Jensen’s leg, just above the knee. Jensen’s breathing stills expectantly then he inhales sharply as Jared slides his hand slowly but purposefully up the back of Jensen’s thigh and over the smooth curve of his ass. His eyes flutter closed when Jared’s hand comes to rest insinuatingly on his right butt cheek, thumb drawing a teasing circle around the inner curve, and he releases his breath as a stuttered sigh. “Mmm,” he murmurs, and Jared can feel the muscles tighten under his palm as Jensen’s hips give a little impatient hump.  
  
Jared’s so hard now it’s uncomfortable, and he has to adjust the front of his jeans to make some room for the swelling flesh. But he’s nervous, too, and his heart’s thumping rapidly as he raises his hand. It’s a big responsibility: getting it right, finding Jensen’s level - hard enough that it’s satisfying, not so hard that it’s just annoying. It occurs to him, not for the first time, that Jen puts a lot of trust in him. They have to trust each other, of course, in so many different ways every day, but this is new and it kind of makes Jared’s chest glow and ache thinking about it.  
  
His first exploratory swat is a joke and he knows it. Jensen opens his eyes and his brow crumples into a puzzled frown. “Dude, did you leave a window open somewhere?” he asks, “’Cause I swear I just felt a draught.” Jared deals a slightly harder swat to the other cheek but Jensen just rolls his eyes. “Man, are you kidding me?” he demands. “You hit me harder than this on set! Do you need an audience to do this right?”  
  
Jared is goaded into making the next stroke a little harder than he’d intended. He pays out a smack like the one from the set with a little interest on top and Jensen’s hips leap under his hand, his eyes snap shut and his breath comes out in a rush. Then he grins broadly. “More like it,” he growls approvingly.  
  
It fires the hot spreading glow of arousal deep in Jared’s abdomen. He lays a similar smack on the other cheek and is rewarded with another leap of Jensen’s hips and a grunt that is pure satisfaction and pleasure, and that encourages him to risk upping the ante. “You’re way too cocky about all this, Ackles,” he admonishes. “Maybe I should take your pants down and make you take it bare-assed.”  
  
Jensen stops breathing, and there’s a pause that soon has Jared’s heart jack-hammering in his chest, until the eyes swivel up to meet Jared’s again and they’re sparkling with excitement. “You could,” he acknowledges, teasingly, “if you had the stones. But I reckon you’re all talk, Padalecki.”  
  
Jared raises his eyebrows. “Oh, you _reckon_ , do you?” he huffs.  
  
The corners of Jensen’s eyes crinkle with merriment. “Oh, yeah, I think so,” he teases gently.  
  
“Well, we’ll see about that,” Jared retorts, imperiously folding his arms. “ _Turn over_.”  
  
For all his assumed skepticism, Jensen doesn’t waste any time arguing. With a little shuffling he manages to rotate his body until he’s lying on his back, arched like a bow over Jared’s lap, and now it’s his crotch that’s lifted and so temptingly displayed for Jared’s appraisal, denim stretched tight over the bulge of his erection so the outline is clearly visible. It seems he’s aroused by the exposed position: his eyes are wide and dark and he’s breathing so quickly he’s almost panting.  
  
Once again, Jared begins by running a hand up one leg, feeling the shape of the muscle, warm and firm and taut under his touch, then around the curve of the hip. He enjoys hearing Jensen gasp as he allows his thumb to trail real close to that inviting mound, and he watches it straining eagerly against the constricting fabric. Jensen’s head drops back and he swallows as Jared’s fingers close around his belt clasp. The chink of the buckle betrays Jared’s shaking hands as he slides the leather out of the loops and pops the button on the jeans, and the quaver in Jensen’s breathing reveals he’s trembling, too. His soft gasps and snorts of anticipation mingle with the metallic rasp as Jared slowly draws down the zipper.  
  
When Jared’s hands rest on his waistband he arches his back and raises his hips to ease the passage of his jeans down his thighs, lifting his knees to help them off with a couple of impatient kicks. Then he stretches out once more and Jared’s admiring gaze wanders over the smooth, toned thighs. His hand follows without a thought, and as his palm slides up the warm, taut muscle of the inner thigh Jensen responds by lifting his knees and spreading his legs wider, open and inviting. A twitch of movement from the front of his shorts catches Jared’s eye and his attention shifts to Jensen’s crotch where he notices a tell-tale patch of dampness seeping through the dark material. His gaze flicks up to Jensen’s face and they lock eye contact for a moment. It sends a buzz of excitement skittering down his spine and his cock strains restlessly in his pants.  
  
Jensen’s watching him, and Jared knows what his friend’s waiting for, what he’s expecting, but he leans back and wills himself to relax. “Turn back over,” he says.  
  
A puzzled frown creases Jensen’s brow. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asks, casting a significant glance at his shorts.  
  
Jared just raises an eyebrow. He says nothing but lifts his hand and draws a small, insistent circle in the air with a rotating finger. Jensen’s expression shifts from puzzled to slightly disgruntled but he takes the point and obeys, and once he’s settled into place he raises his hips again like he thinks maybe Jared’s decided to pull his shorts down from this position.  
  
All in good time.  
  
Jared raises his hand and brings it down on the crown of Jensen’s upturned bottom, hard enough that the smack of it echoes through the room along with a surprised ‘yip’ from Jensen. He pauses long enough to relish the tingle in his palm and the warmth of the butt cheek beneath it and then he quickly follows up with another half dozen strokes, alternating from one side to the other, until Jensen’s hips are bouncing and he’s got his face buried in the cushion of the sofa, crooning appreciatively.  
  
Jared pauses and slips his finger under the lower hem of Jensen’s shorts, lifting the satiny material to inspect his handiwork. The flesh beneath is already a little pink.  
  
“You’d see better if you took ’em _off_ ,” Jensen remarks pointedly.  
  
“Quiet, you!” Jared retorts, grinning, and punctuates the command with another smack. “I know what I’m doing,” he adds, and runs his hand over the curve of Jensen’s ass, massaging the soft material against the warm flesh.  
  
“ _Mmmmmmm_ ,” Jensen breathes, and now he’s gently rutting himself against Jared’s thigh. “Yeah, I think maybe you do,” he acknowledges, letting out a quiet hiss as Jared’s thumb slips under the hem again and strokes the inner curve of flesh, and moves down to brush the soft, sensitive skin at the crease where his crotch meets the top of his leg. He swiftly spreads his thighs to allow Jared better access.  
  
Jared moves his hand across to the other thigh, massaging the muscle and insinuating teasing fingers inside the shorts, gradually inching higher to a backing track of encouraging gasps and whimpers from Jensen until, eventually, he slides a couple of fingers right inside the shorts, lightly brushing his knuckles backwards and forwards across the sensitive mound of flesh behind Jensen’s balls.  
  
Jensen moans and his ass hops into the air, quivering with pleasure and he spreads his thighs even wider. Jared allows his knuckles to graze the back of Jensen’s balls briefly before sliding his hand right inside Jensen’s shorts and when he palms the crown of one butt cheek, Jensen lets out a hum of mingled satisfaction and anticipation. Jared uses his free hand to ruche up the material that’s covering his fingers, then he raises his hand and brings it smartly back down on the exposed cheek and the apartment rings with the crack of flesh on bare flesh.  
  
“ _nnnnnnnnggg!_ ” Jensen gasps as his hips bounce down and his feet kick up, toes curling.  
  
When Jared lifts his hand there’s a faint suggestion of a handprint blossoming and he rubs at it, worried maybe he went a little hard that time considering it was on the bare, but Jensen’s soon got his ass in the air again, clearly wanting more, so Jared hikes up the shorts the other side and pays out another stroke to match, feeling the tingle in his palm and the thrill up his arm, and Jensen lets out a breathy sigh of appreciation.  
  
“You can take them off, you know?” he reminds Jared.  
  
A knowing smile curls Jared’s lips and now he’s running both hands all over the exposed curves of Jensen’s butt. The flesh under his palms is warm and firm; he can feel the muscles flexing with his touch, and something else: the warm, firm thrust of Jensen’s erection as he ruts wantonly against Jared’s thigh.  
  
“Ah, c’mon, Jay! Take ’em off, already!” Jensen urges.  
  
Doing his best to ignore the urgent throbbing inside his own pants, Jared allows his hands to wander up to the waistband of Jensen’s shorts and he hooks his thumbs underneath, brushing them back and forth over the flesh beneath the elastic, and Jensen eagerly lifts his hips, chest heaving with expectation. Jared inches the shorts down at first until it earns him a snort of impatience from Jensen then he eases them over the curve and down quivering thighs to the accompanying sound of a sharply drawn breath and a long low exhale.  
  
The shorts go the way of the jeans, and then Jared pauses to contemplate Jensen’s t-shirt. Well, that’s just going to get in the way, isn’t it? So he slips his fingers under the hem and slides it smoothly up Jensen’s back . . . at least until it reaches his armpits and then it takes some tugging and pulling from both of them to get it over his friend’s head and off, but it’s worth it because now that long, lovely body is laid out in front of him, completely naked.  
  
Well, _almost_ completely.  
  
Jensen kicks up his feet and waggles them in the air. “Socks?” he says pointedly.  
  
“What about them?” Jared asks, innocently.  
  
“Naked man in socks, Dude,” Jensen elaborates. “Not cool.”  
  
Jared just grins mischievously. He actually thinks the strong, buff, naked body stretched out across his lap is rather nicely set off by the white sports socks. “I think you look cute,” he says.  
  
Jensen lifts himself up onto his elbows and gives Jared the stink eye. “I look _stoopid_ is what I look,” he complains.  
  
Jared purses his lips. “Well, you should have thought of that before, then,” he replies archly.  
  
Jensen’s eyes narrow briefly but nevertheless he settles obediently back into position. “Well, that’s just mean,” he grumbles, pouting.  
  
Jared’s grin melts away as his attention is drawn back to contemplate the beauty of the ass that’s currently propped over his lap, nicely warmed from his attentions thus far; he reaches out and circles the pink curves with a soothing stroke and they quiver expectantly under his touch. For now he’s content to just admire the firm-muscled contours and, at first, Jensen seems happy to enjoy the caress but presently his hips bob upward, prompting Jared to get on with it.  
  
Jared just smiles. He circles another figure of eight around Jensen’s cheeks then delivers a couple of love pats to each of them in turn.  
  
Jensen lifts up his head and scowls at him. “Oh, _come on_ , Man!” he complains.  
  
Jared laughs and gently pushes him back down again. “Patience is a virtue,” he observes.  
  
“And you’re a friggin’ tease,” Jensen grumbles into the cushion.  
  
Jared treats him to another pair of strokes, slightly harder this time, but he can still hear Jensen’s muffled grumbling. The third pair is hard enough to still Jensen’s whining and the fourth has him catching his breath. “ _Mmmm_ ,” he murmurs, humping a little with growing excitement, his cock pressing hot and hard against Jared’s thigh as he moves.  
  
Another couple of strokes elicit the now familiar responsive hop that signals Jared’s nearing the right level and as the next pair cracks down Jensen’s bottom fairly leaps under Jared’s palm.  
  
“ _Better_ ,” he growls, and as Jared raises his hand again Jensen’s hips jerk up in anticipation.  
  
Jared pauses. “Wait for it,” he teases.  
  
Then _smack_ and _smack!_ The echo rings through the room and Jensen gasps aloud “oh, yeah!” and “ _fuck_ , yeah!”  
  
Jared inspects the rosy cheeks and decides that’s probably enough for the moment, and when Jensen realizes they’re taking a break he relaxes and closes his eyes, blowing out a gentle breath from between pursed lips. Jared resumes a soothing massage that draws a long gratified moan from Jensen and soon he’s writhing with pleasure in Jared’s lap. He reaches back and his fingers find Jared’s leg, absently stroking a reciprocal caress around his knee.  
  
Presently it occurs to Jared he’s not real sure where they’re up to. “How many is that, anyway?” he asks.  
  
Jensen’s eyes flicker open and squirrel up to meet Jared’s gaze. “Well, _I_ wasn’t counting,” he confesses. “I thought you were.”  
  
“Uh . . . I guess not,” Jared admits. There’s a pause while they exchange a look of ‘well, what do we do now?’ then Jared shrugs. “Well, I suppose we’ll just have to start over,” he suggests.  
  
The briefest of smiles touches Jensen’s lips before he rolls his eyes and whines “oh, _man!_ ” but his tone is anything but sincere.  
  
But first Jared needs to get rid of his clothes; he feels like he’s just about ready to burst right through his jeans. “Get up a minute,” he says.  
  
Jensen turns and props himself up on his elbows again but that’s all he does, apart from raising his eyebrows, that is.  
  
“What?” Jared enquires.  
  
“You didn’t say ‘Simon said’.”  
  
Jared pulls an expression that he quickly realizes is classic Sam-bitch-face. “Get up _now!_ ” he commands, trying not to laugh as he adds “go stand in the corner,” for good measure.  
  
“The _corner?_ ” Jensen whines as he clambers to his feet. “Dude, you’re _strict_.”  
  
Jared can’t help chuckling now, and he’s so distracted by the performance he very nearly doesn’t notice the damp patch Jensen’s left on his jeans, or the sticky thread that briefly stretches between the spot and the glistening head of Jensen’s . . . singularly impressive erection. Not that Jared should be completely surprised by its length and girth since he’s seen hints of its dimensions on a few occasions when Jensen’s gone commando, and it’s real funny now he comes to think of it that it’s never occurred to him before how closely he’s apparently been examining his friend’s crotch but, seriously . . .  
  
 _seriously_ . . . it’s magnificent. And now Jared feels just a tiny, tiny little bit, self conscious about undressing in front of him. “ _Wow_ ,” he murmurs, and it gives a little responsive skip, like it appreciates the attention.  
  
And Jensen’s watching him, he realizes, and now he’s blushing ’cause he’s been caught staring and . . . _crap_.  
  
“Can I take my socks off now?” Jensen wants to know.  
  
Jared regroups his dignity. “ _No_ ,” he insists, and Jensen pouts as he pads across the room in his little white socks with his pendulous erection bouncing in front of him and positions himself in the corner, folding his arms huffily.  
  
Jared really just wants to get out of his pants as fast as he can but he restrains himself just a little bit longer, toeing off his shoes and reaching down to pull off his socks before  
  
“Oh, _you_ get to take your socks off!”  
  
before rising to his feet and casually unbuttoning his shirt. He untucks the tails, pulls the shirt back and shucks it off of his shoulders and while he unhurriedly makes his way across the room he’s unbuckling his belt, popping the button, drawing down his zipper. He can’t repress a sigh of relief as the denim parts to relieve the pressure on his swollen cock, and he revels in the cool wash of air he feels as he lets the jeans slither over his hips and down his thighs. He nonchalantly steps out of them as he moves forward leaving them in a puddled heap on the floor behind him and, all the while, Jensen’s watching him with hungry eyes.  
  
“And the rest,” he breathes as Jared reaches him clad in nothing but his boxers.  
  
“Maybe, if you’re good,” Jared agrees softly and adds “put your hands on the wall.”  
  
Jensen reaches out and lays his palms on the wall, resting his head against his arm as he fixes Jared with a big wide-eyed gaze. “Oh, I’ll be _good_ , Jay,” he murmurs, low and smoldering. “I promise you that.”  
  
A grin touches Jared’s lips and fades away again just as quickly when he sees something in the forest-dark pools of Jensen’s eyes, beneath the mock-seductive pose, something hopeful and longing. Hot little rivers of excitement trickle down his back and pool in his groin, and he swallows on a mouth run suddenly dry. Moving closer he plants soft lips against Jensen’s shoulder, pressing his crotch against his friend’s hip and letting him feel the hardness of his erection. He molds one hand around the curve of Jensen’s ass and slides the other low over his abdomen, feeling his cock leap up to tap against Jared’s knuckles. He moves his palm in slow circles, upward, until he reaches Jensen’s nipples and his fingers circle each in turn, and he listens to his friend’s muffled hisses and whimpers when he rubs and tweaks the coppery discs to stiff, pebbled peaks. His other hand is sliding between Jensen’s thighs and pressing against them, urging them apart until Jensen is leaning against the wall with his legs splayed, and he arches his back and tilts his bottom up in readiness.  
  
Jared lets his fingers curl up and he traces light doodling patterns with his fingernails over the sensitive flesh between Jensen’s thighs, and watches the shivering response it provokes, listens to him breathe a series of sharp exhales between a couple of quickly taken snuffs of air, then he raises his hand, pauses, and Jensen stops breathing and waits.  
  
A beat, and Jensen’s buttocks flex in anticipation.  
  
Two beats, three, and Jared brings his hand down just as hard as he now knows Jensen likes it.  
  
 _Smack!_  
  
Jensen tilts up onto his toes, his knees soften and his body shudders. “ _Mmmmmm – aaa – aaaah!_ ” he gasps.  
  
Jared follows up with a matching stroke to the other side that has Jensen humming with arousal, especially since his other hand’s running all over Jensen’s torso, and then he caresses the increasingly warm butt cheeks as well. He pauses to watch his friend’s cock twitching and quivering, so fascinated by the dewy trickle leaking from the tip he hardly notices himself reaching out to stroke the slippery-wet shaft until Jensen’s eager moan stirs him from his reverie and drives an electric thrill through his own groin, and he has to press himself against Jensen’s hip to relieve the urgent aching in his own cock. He lets his fingers trail up and down the straining shaft and around the slick dome then slides his hand down to cradle Jensen’s balls in his palm.  
  
Jensen’s arms give, his elbows slump against the wall and he drops his forehead on his hands, gasping “ _fuck, Jay, oh f-fuck fuck_ . . .”  
  
Jared’s rutting against Jensen’s hip now – he can’t help himself – his other hand slips down to the inner curve of Jen’s left butt cheek, nestles there for a moment then draws back.  
  
“ _nnnnngg_ ,” Jensen groans in anticipation then “ _NNnnnnggggggGaaaaaaah!_ ” as Jared curls a sharp smack around the lower curve and “ _Ohhhhh fffuuuck - - OH FUCK yes YES!!!_ ” as he does the same the other side while corkscrewing his other hand up the length of Jensen’s cock and sweeping his thumb over the dome.  
  
Jensen’s knees buckle a little and his hips bob up and down as Jared peppers his bottom with a half dozen more quick swats while teasing and stroking his cock by turns, and Jensen’s kind of tripped out by now, eyes half closed and heavy lidded, head rubbing against his own hands and loose lips trailing a little drool along his arm as he hums a continuous song of increasingly urgent groans and gruntles, but then he suddenly pushes back from the wall and pulls himself upright.  
  
“ _Wait, Jay_ ,” he gasps. “ _Wait, fuck Jay fuck stop_ . . . ”  
  
Jared’s hand freezes mid stroke. “Jen? You O.K?” he asks, a little alarmed.  
  
Jensen nods emphatically while he catches his breath. “’m fine . . . just . . .” He draws in another deep breath, slowly lets it out then flashes a rather embarrassed grin. “Just . . . you keep this up, I’m gonna lose it before I get a chance to be _good_ for anything,” he explains.  
  
Jared stares at him for a moment. “That’s O.K,” he assures him, then adds “we’ve got all night, you know?” and, on impulse, he slips a gentle hand around Jensen’s jaw and turns his face so he can plant a little kiss on those crazy-full soft lips. He feels Jensen lift a hand from the wall to cradle his head, and when he draws back Jen’s eyes are closed but then he opens them and kind of blinks and stares at Jared wide-eyed . . .  
  
. . . and suddenly something occurs to Jared he’s stunned he never realized before: God . . . I _love_ this man.  
  
Jensen clears his throat. “Yeah?” he asks, still a little hoarsely.  
  
Jared recognizes that his impulsive little gesture has somehow put everything on a whole different footing all of a sudden, but he thinks . . . he thinks that’s O.K. He thinks it’s right.  
  
“Yeah, of course,” he says.  
  
Jensen leaves his hand curled loosely around Jared’s neck when Jared reaches for him once more and begins a slow but purposeful massage up and down his shaft that soon has him panting and trembling. Jared’s other hand is busy, too. He’s mixing up the sensations: running his hand up and down the length of Jensen’s back from his shoulders to the backs of his thighs, and between them, stroking the flesh, fondling his balls, then up to caress and tap his buttocks – mainly just a light _pat pat_ from side to side and up and down, covering every inch of flesh and making it jiggle, and occasionally interspersing slightly harder smacks that have Jensen groaning, his knees buckling and his cock leaping in Jared’s hand. And as Jared works his hand up and down its length, gradually increasing the pace, Jensen’s cries are escalating in their urgency, tumbling out of his mouth with barely coherent curses and breathy gasps of “ _Jay . . Jay . . Jay . ._ ” and then Jared feels the telltale tremor in Jen’s shaft that signals his friend is really close. He draws back his other hand, swings it forward and _smack!_  
  
Jen’s fingers slice and clutch into Jared’s hair, he screws his eyes closed, his cock convulses in Jared’ hand, his balls draw up and Jared feels the thumping pulse of his orgasm. Streaks of white arc into the air and splatter the wall, and Jen’s wrenching ecstatic cries thrill through every nerve of Jared’s body leaving him shivering with reciprocal want. He manages to get in another shaky smack that prompts one last moan of pleasure from Jensen before his knees finally give out under him, banging against the plaster as he slides down the wall and tumbles to the floor. Jared follows him down and Jensen falls on top of him, lays him out on his back, lips mashing together, tongues tangling, warm and wet filling Jared’s mouth, and his head’s swimming, he feels like he’s falling, a reeling backward somersault that makes his insides flutter. And Jensen’s warm, firm body is between his thighs and he’s already grinding against him. He’s got his fingers buried in the flesh of Jensen’s buttocks, kneading and massaging the hot flesh and somehow, at some point, Jen must have got Jared’s boxers undone because he can feel the hot flesh of their cocks, their balls, rubbing together all over each other in a muddled slippery slide, and Jen’s moving like he’s fucking him and it feels weird and strange and wonderful and right and so good and that’s it he’s gone he’s done he’s coming and God oh _God God God_ it’s so good it’s _so good its so so . . .  
  
Jen_.  
  
A while later . . . moments, minutes, doesn’t matter . . . Jen’s lying with his head tucked under Jared’s chin and Jared’s running his fingers through the soft bristles of hair, feeling the ends tickling his finger tips, and he sleepily suggests maybe they’d be more comfortable in bed. “ _mmmmm_ ” Jen responds, and Jared’s not sure whether that’s agreement or enjoyment. Neither of them actually makes the effort to move.  
  
Eventually, though, Jensen fidgets and moves his legs restlessly. “ _Ow!_ ” he grumbles under his breath. “That’s gonna bruise tomorrow.”  
  
Jared tenses a little. “Oh, _crap!_ Did I go too hard?” he asks anxiously.  
  
“What?” Jen looks up and gives Jared a puzzled look then he laughs out loud. “ _No!_ Dumbass! My _knees_ are hurting. I really whacked them on that wall.”  
  
Jared stares for a moment then laughs with him. “Ladies and gentlemen! I give you the brave stoic hero, Dean Winchester!” he teases.  
  
“Ah, shuttup.”  
  
He smiles and after a little reflection asks “so . . . how many _was_ it in the end, by the way?” and he feels Jen’s lips curl against his chest.  
  
“Just the right amount,” Jensen replies with a chuckle.  
  
Jared glances down at the scruffy head under his nose and smiles. “Who knew you had a kinky streak?” he remarks. “I had you pegged as totally vanilla.”  
  
“Well, I had you pegged as totally straight,” Jensen retorts.  
  
Jared laughs. “Not so much as I thought, I guess.”  
  
Jen twists and leans up on one elbow to examine Jared’s face. “You know you’ve been a bad influence on me,” he says. “One time I’d never have done anything this impulsive; I’d have been too worried about the consequences.”  
  
Jared frowns a little. “What consequences?” he asks.  
  
Jensen shrugs and there’s a hint of a blush as he replies. “Oh, you know. The usual: will it screw up our friendship? That sort of thing.”  
  
“You’re _not_ worried are you?” Jared asks, “Still?”  
  
Jensen studies his face then smiles and shakes his head gently. “No,” he says. “Not any more.”  
  
Jared reaches up and draws his lover back down into his arms and they kiss, softly, slowly, for a long time.  
  
They’re going to have to get up eventually. There are things to do. The wall needs cleaning, for one, and maybe Jensen’s knees need a band-aid . . . and he needs to take off his socks . . . but there’s time for all that. That and a lot more. They’ve got all night.  
  
They’ve got the rest of their lives.  
 

............................................................................

 

**Have you joined the road trip yet?**

See next page for a trailer for the _Supernatural_ AU serial

THE SONG REMAINS THE SAME

by fanspired


	2. Trailer for the Pilot episode of "The Song Remains the Same" by fanspired.

 

 

 

 

The Demon has targeted the Winchester family.

 

_Don’t look up._

It falls to Sam Campbell to protect and prepare John's music student son

 

_“Dean, you’re not the pampered,_

_soft-bellied college wimp I took you for.”_

There’s just one problem.

 

_There was no room for sentiment in hunting,_

_no place for attachment, and no excuse for_

_allowing himself to be dominated by a downstairs-_

_brained, testosterone fueled obsession with the_

_guy whose safety was his responsibility._

 

When a couple disappear on a lonely Californian road it provides an opportunity to initiate Dean into the dark mysteries of the Supernatural.

_The eyes were the worst: dark and sunken,_

_with milky irises leeched of colour, they were_

_devoid of humanity - hollow and empty_

_yet, paradoxically, filled with malice._

 

_As he made a frantic grab for the rope it_

_dropped right along with him. It felt like he was_

_falling through his own insides and all he could_

_think was what the fuck’s happened  to Sam?!_

**The Song Remains the Same**

John never married Mary, Dean never became a hunter, Sam never had a father.

Sam and Dean never met until now, but they still wind up fighting side by side -

saving people, hunting things.

_“It’s a deal then. I’ll provide the_

_hot wheels and the cool aliases and_

_you teach me everything you know.”_

 

** **This is an episodic AU serial that mimics the formula and style of the original _Superntatural_ show, but with an ongoing slash romance subplot manifesting mainly as UST nuances in the early episodes. Each episode has a self-contained adventure plot and can be read as a stand alone story.** **

**[Go back to the beginning . . . and take a different road](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1203496/chapters/2457754).**

 

 


End file.
